He couldn't hear anything but his brother. His world was focused on that gun being waved around, pointed at him, the gun that had stolen so much life around them already. He couldn't even speak. His world had basically crumbled under his feet and there was still more to be taken away. His shoulders heaved from the effort of merely continuing to exist in the face of this devastation because it wasn't over. There was more to come and Chris had to do something.
Wyatt was still talking, genuine care and emotion in his pleas that would always stand out against the pain of Chris's heart splitting in two. He had to do something and part of him already knew how this would end. Faster than he'd ever moved before, faster than he could think about it, Chris surged up from the floor and took Wyatt's arms, tackled him to the ground. They were rolling and fighting and yelling and the gun went off one more time. He'd lost count of how many shots were fired, had no idea how many the gun could even hold. It didn't matter.
Those few moments were everything. His grip was slick with blood and sweat, Wyatt's size and strength overpowering but Chris's determination unwavering. He had nothing left but this fight in him, this destructive rage that told him to survive and they struggled. Wyatt twisted and turned, pushed his own hand to try and force the muzzle at Chris's face and he put all of his weight into keeping it turned away, hands grasping in futility for control of the gun.
It all happened pretty quickly after that. Wyatt's hand slipped, blood or a cramp or something else weakening his hold, and Chris had the gun, sat up long enough to turn it around and aim.
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Wyatt was still talking, genuine care and emotion in his pleas that would always stand out against the pain of Chris's heart splitting in two. He had to do something and part of him already knew how this would end. Faster than he'd ever moved before, faster than he could think about it, Chris surged up from the floor and took Wyatt's arms, tackled him to the ground. They were rolling and fighting and yelling and the gun went off one more time. He'd lost count of how many shots were fired, had no idea how many the gun could even hold. It didn't matter.
Those few moments were everything. His grip was slick with blood and sweat, Wyatt's size and strength overpowering but Chris's determination unwavering. He had nothing left but this fight in him, this destructive rage that told him to survive and they struggled. Wyatt twisted and turned, pushed his own hand to try and force the muzzle at Chris's face and he put all of his weight into keeping it turned away, hands grasping in futility for control of the gun.
It all happened pretty quickly after that. Wyatt's hand slipped, blood or a cramp or something else weakening his hold, and Chris had the gun, sat up long enough to turn it around and aim.
Bang.